


Crazy

by BiologicalExperiment



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:03:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12970347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiologicalExperiment/pseuds/BiologicalExperiment
Summary: This scene/skit popped into my head while listening to the song "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley. I wasn't sure what rating/warnings to apply. I guess one might say it's dark/twisted? But, then again, they may not.





	Crazy

"I remember when, I remember-I remember when I lost my mind. There was something so pleasant about that place. Even your emotions have an echo in so much space." The soft tenor voice carried across the small plot of land while a set of hands were busy at work, digging up the wet soil. It wasn't the first time that soil had been dug and replaced, appearing to shift periodically when the time seemed fit. "And when you're out there, without a care… Yeah. I was out of touch, but it wasn't much, because I didn't know enough. I just knew too much," the singer explained as the shovel was finally laid aside.

Hoisting a heavy sack onto a pair of stout shoulders, the tenor voice continued to sing while lowering a canvass bag, shrouded in layers of sturdy plastic, into the dark hole. "Does that make me crazy? Does that make me crazy? Does that make me crazy? Possibly," the voice admitted almost in an amused tone. The singer didn't mind being labeled as crazy; however, most people would never contemplate such a hideous thought, which delighted the corrupt soul all the more. "And I hope that you are having the time of your life, but think twice." Rising out of the hole, the shovel was fetched once more. With practiced easy, the earth was returned to the newly formed cavity. "That's my only advice," the singer warned before relocating the excess dirt to another part of the private cemetery.

"Come on now, who do you, who do you, who do you, who do you think you are?" The voice inquired, almost to itself rather than to the world about it. Not wanting to answer the question, the shovel was returned to the shed before a pair of dirt coated boots made their way back to the stone building. The eerie silence of the new moon didn't last long before the singing resumed, cutting through in a harsh laugh. "Ha ha ha, bless your soul. You really think you're in control?" The voice questioned again, this time in sarcastic spite. The singer's body continued to function, almost out of conditioned routine rather than of conscious choice, having preformed this ritual multiple times over the years.

"Well, I think you're crazy. I think you're crazy. I think you're crazy, just like me," the tenor voice rang out in response to the silence, laced with a snide tone as the dirty boots were discarded. Continuing to ignore the tantalizing truth, a pair of bare feet traveled up a flight of stone stairs, leaving the proof of the night's adventure by the back door. Moving to the basin by the small cot, the cassock was removed and hung on the wooden hook embedded into the wall. Almost as if exhausted, the fowled hands began to wash, rinsing off dirt and blood as the voice continued to vibrate off the walls in the small cell.

"My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on a limb, and all I remember is thinking, I want to be like them," the tenor voice sang sadly as a pair of knees bent to allow the owner to kneel in prayer. "Ever since I was little, ever since I was little, it looked like fun. And it was no coincidence I've come," the murderer confessed, wishing that actions wouldn't always ring so true, especially when words appeared to mean nothing. "And I can die when I'm done." With a sigh, a weary body crawled into bed. Blowing out the candle, the softened voice slipped quietly throughout the small bed chamber. "But maybe I'm crazy. Maybe you're crazy. Maybe we're crazy," the singer contemplated as a pair of soulless hues closed, trying to block out the fact that another boy was lying unknown in the cold, unforgiving ground. Rolling over, the priest tried to find comfort before mass the next morning.

"Probably…"


End file.
